Page 123 of The Gilded Survivor

To beat the magic, I would need to pierce her heart—the center of all her power.

I worked fast, turning around and closing the distance between us, and shoved the knife down between her ribs, and straight into her beating heart.

She sputtered and gasped as she died, and then blood leaked out around from the blade. I watched while she gurgled out her last breaths. Martina’s magic was gone. Martina de León was dead.

I had killed her.

I sank to the floor, exhausted.

The world around me stilled with deathly silence. I drew my knees to my face, and thought about the woman I had become.

The blood of generations of magic ran through my veins. Did I descend from the Familia Real, with their venerations and altars constructed all around the commonwealth?

Had Martina been telling me that the Canciller had been the one to murder the Familia Real?

My people loved them. I had found comfort in their images. If I was one of their descendants, I could not let hope of a new life die with me.

I looked down at my hand, covered in blood with magical golden light leaking into the world around me.

But then, along with my confidence, the gold light faded, leaving behind the same skin and bones as before.

Before Pablo’s death. Before coming to Casas Grandes and dancing. Before becoming Élite.

Then, my mind had been clear, but I was tired of endlessly trying to survive, to not be caught.

I didn’t feel tired anymore. I felt empty. And cold. Utterly destroyed. I could feel my heart beating slower than normal in my chest.

It wasn’t just the loss of Isaac, it was the loss of a family I’d never known. The story of my mother, my brother. A brother who might’ve been a king. It was too much to handle.

I needed to get out of this room, to change my dress and burn it.

Someone could walk in any moment.

Chapter48

Chancellor in the Hallway

The hallway where we had come from was mostly secluded. I looked around for something to drape around my blood stained dress. The blood was concealed somewhat by the redness of the gown, but the dark splotches gave off a metallic odor hard to miss.

Spotting a tablecloth, I ripped it off the desk with one forceful tug.

Tears slid down my face and my hands shook as I wrapped it around myself. Drying my tears with a corner of the cotton fabric, I hurried to the door, stepping over the bodies.

As soon as my fingers wrapped around the handle, I burst into tears once again.

“Get it together,” I scolded myself and tightened my grip.

Slowly, so slowly, I turned the handle and opened the door before slipping into the secluded hallway.

The smell of food hit me, and I could hear the music once again.

“Señorita Valarde, what a pleasure to find you here. I was about to head down to the ball,” a deep male voice said behind me. It was deceptively soft. “It isn’t every day that I find one of the most beloved young women in all of Arrebol in my halls.”

Slowly, I turned around and found myself face to face with Canciller Agustín Duarte. He was a murderer, and a pretender. The master manipulator himself.

That hatred I’d been bottling up for days and weeks on end came rushing back to my cheeks. Rage and fear were intoxicating emotions.

The Canciller’s eyes were so dark they looked like black holes, two limitless voids swirling with dark possibilities. A place where no stars burned, no light lingered. His face was hard and chiseled, his skin paler than most people in Arrebol.

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